Look
by IzzBot
Summary: HouseWilson. Musings. Angst and love and all the heartache in between. House is the speaker.


**Disclaimer: House and Wilson are not of my creation.**

**-**

Obsession.

You are in its clutches, unable to get free. It has your mind turning and you're burning and you can't stop thinking…

About him. About your friend. He is your obsession.

You look and look and you believe that you can see straight into his soul…

He is afraid of what you may find… that in which he's been trying to hide.

Wives and girlfriends came and went… one horrible ending after another, stormy relationships that only caused hurt… but you were there.

You watched and waited… mocking at times… helpful in your own way. You can see flames of anger flickering in his eyes… but can't he see the truth? You are a… Jealous Guy… Soft notes rise and fall and you try not to listen to the lyrics.

Phantom pains ghost across every muscle and cell. You have stopped trying to differentiate between real and imaginary. Heartache and aches of actual pain. He always told you… that it was all in your head. Heart, head… soul, mind. He knows when you're guilty, he knows when you're sad, he knows when life has lost its meaning… and he's there to replenish… love and joy.

Abandonment.

You know when it's over. When you've pushed too far. It broke.

Seconds. Minutes. Millenia. Time has lost all meaning. Come to a halt until things are resolved. Waiting is a torture that you can do without. There is a pain in your gut, stabs at you, that lectures you… punishes you…

It's all your fault.

A man without feelings. Lacking emotions but with so much pain. And it hurts… so bad… when you see that your pain has spread to those who try… to help you… to love you.

One time you had thought you had hurt him… the way that leaves marks… bruises. And tremors rocketed through your body… then gone numb. Life is nothing, except him. It's all him. Nothing matters but him.

You try not to destroy your only source of meaning.

But anger and pain and… fear. They charge and fire and overpower you. They are the commanders of your actions, your words. Numb. Numb. Numb. You are not guilty, you think desperately, you are confident and… and…

Your mind stops…

You are nothing.

Smiling eyes, laughing eyes. Worried, concerned, hopeless, helpless.

He attempts at hiding, but it is not his forte. You each wear a mask, yet futilely. Love is a fickle thing… it makes you vulnerable. He sees you… he _knows _you. And the fact that you have as much power over him as he does over you does not make it any better.

Cool hands and warm eyes. Soft hair and bright smile.

Every moment you can feel the spark, the connection. You move together and you know you love him… because it fits. It always has and it always will. Neither of you can break that.

Then, one day, it doesn't. A misstep, it seems. Everything is perfect and then one false move and it… shatters.

You break.

Misery and loneliness. You had thought they were your friends… the only thing you could count on in a world of variables. Then they turn on you… change your depression and pain into torment that is beyond your control. Pill after pill, drink after drink. You can still feel. Why is it not working? Frustrated, you bang a fist against the hard surface of the wall and the spikes of pain work their way up your arm.

You revel in the pain. This was a pain you could control, this was your first love. It was when he took priority that things got all… screwed to all goddamn hell. You can control the pain… you can't control him. Although, you do try.

You stare and stare. The early morning sun rises over him, he glistens. A halo of light atop his head and he can never look more angelic or innocent. He's in his office, eyes affixed on endless amounts of paperwork. You want to take him away from the dullness of work and formality… from the mundane details of life.

Your mind wanders to far off lands of happiness and rainbows and puppies that never grow old, a vision fit of Cameron, you believe. And at the center of all the corny and clichéd happy thoughts is him in all his glory. You let slip… a _tiny_… smile.

It fades fast as you see his deep brown eyes raise and give you a warning look. He doesn't want to deal with you. That's fine. You are content to just look. Observe his tired sighs and grumbles, the way he runs a hand through his hair or raps his knuckles against the desk. And he lets you. That makes you feel a little bit better, or worse, it depends on why.

It's always why and how and who and questions and answers that fill your head till it jumbles and loses all meaning but you always need a puzzle. He is your puzzle. You will always ask questions concerning him… he is yours.

Time has yet to regain meaning… at least to you. To him, it is apparent, that time is ticking away at the same speed it always has. Tick, tick, tick. You can hear it from his office. It's calming; your mind starts slow to that beat.

You have gone into a happy reverie of brown haired oncologists giving you sweet smiles and you are in love. And you sleep on your feet because you dare not move from this spot… where you can observe… can make sure he is safe. As long as he is in your sights you know all hope is not lost. When he disappears, when there is emptiness where he should be, then you are truly alone.

You startle not from sound or touch… but from smell. You smell him first. You have your eyes closed, able to picture him in your mind with perfect accuracy down to the bags under his eyes. So when you detect his welcoming scent of soap and mint and fabric softener (you wouldn't care if he smelled like horse manure, to be honest) you at first think that your mind is starting to fill in the blanks for you. To make the dream more realistic. And when a soft, tentative voice whispers into your ear, you believe it is all an elaborate lie. A hand touches your shoulder… and you wake up.

Questioning and concern are overrun by lingering anger, his eyes still so cold. Not cold. They are never cold, always either warm with love or fiery with rage. Never cold. When they are cold you know that your life is over.

Your thoughts never seem to complete the travel to actual words, and so you try to speak with your eyes. Please, you plead, let him understand.

And he does… and you cheer inwardly, but there is still a frown on his face. The cheers diminish. You glance across the hallway… empty… before running a hand over his cheek. A gentle kiss.

You can tell that he wants to pull away. You kiss harder… putting all your pent up emotion into the contact of soft lips and tongue and teeth. You gasp as he pulls away, he is breathing heavy.

He crosses his arms defiantly… but you can already see his resolve fading. He blushes as he realizes that you had noticed; he has already lost. He shakes his head… a trembling laugh escapes those red lips. You smile… innocent.

A joy that you will never mention ever again… to _anyone_… seems to consume your whole body… you are as light as a feather. You feel like skipping back to work. But you keep a blank expression on your face… he can't know how much he affects you.

"House, I think I should get back to work." That looks like the last thing he wants to do.

"Dinner tonight?"

He sighs… he always sighs. "Only you can say I'm sorry… effectively, anyway… with a look."

"I thought it was the kiss that won you over." It was a freaking hot kiss, you think.

"I wouldn't have kissed you if you hadn't already won."

You know that this is true, and that makes you happy. Because, despite what you say… argue for vehemently… have week long debates over… it really isn't all about the sex.

You reach out and squeeze his hand. Very quickly… you hope he somehow missed it. He doesn't though, and a smile finds its way all the way to his eyes. You smirk at him, wavering, as it threatens to turn into a smile.

Security. Worry abated and spirits lifted, you head back to your office. He will always be there, you think. And rather than feeling trapped or obligated… you are freer than you have ever been before.

You feel his eyes on you as you walk away… walk toward… a fresh start.

-

**A/N: Review and I will send many good thoughts your way. Criticism, hopefully helpful, is encouraged.**


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